"Come in," he was bubbling over with excitement, "I've got a piece of interesting information." Ambrose in his deliberate fashion put away broom and spade before he joined the other. "You know Beryl Merville, don't you? Steppe is marrying her." He had no other idea than to pass on the news, and create something of the sensation which its recital had caused him. But his keen eyes did not miss the quick lift of Sault's head or the change that came to his face. Only for the fraction of a second, and then his mask descended again. "What do you think of it, Sault? Some girl, eh?" He added one of his own peculiar comments. "Who told you?" "Ronald Morelle. I don't suppose he minds--now. Lucky devil, Steppe. God! If I had his money!" Ambrose walked slowly away, but his enemy had found the chink in his armor. He was certain of it. It was incredible that a man like Ambrose Sault would feel that way, but he would swear that Ambrose was hurt. Here he was wrong. Ambrose was profoundly moved; but he was not hurt. That day Moropulos said little. It was on the second and third days that he went to work with an ingenuity that was devilish to break farther into the crevice he had found. Ambrose made little or no response. The slyest, most outrageous innuendo, he passed as though it had not been spoken. Moropulos was piqued and angry. He dare not go farther for fear Sault complain to Steppe. That alone held him within bounds. But the man was suffering. Instinctively he knew that. Suffering in a dumb, hopeless way that found no expression. On the Friday night Ambrose returned to his lodging looking very tired. Christina was shocked at his appearance. "Ambrose--what is the matter?" "I don't know, Christina--yes, I know. Moropulos has been trying, very trying. I find it so much more difficult to hold myself in. I suppose I'm getting old and my will power is weakening." She stroked the hand that lay on the arm of the chair (for she was sitting up) and looked at him gravely. "Ambrose, I feel that you have given me some of your strength. Do you remember how you gave it to mother?" He shook his head. "No, not you--I purposely didn't. I've a loving heart for you, Christina. I shall carry you with me beyond life." "Why do you say that tonight?" she asked with an odd little pain at her heart. "I don't know. Steppe wants me to go down with Moropulos to his place in the country. Moropulos has asked me before, but this time Steppe asked me. I don't know--" He shook his head wearily. She had never seen him so depressed. It was as if the spirit of life had suddenly burned out. "I hope it will be as you say, Ambrose, but, my dear, you are overtired; we oughtn't to discuss souls and eternities and stuff like that. It is sleep you want, Ambrose." "I'm not sleepy." He bent over her, his big hand on her head. "I am glad you are well," he said.